


The Darling

by Aethelar



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: (not graphic), Caught In The Middle, Dark!Theseus, M/M, an international crime network following Newt's every move, and Graves, and Not Happy about it, discussion of love potions as a means of controlling someone, in a decidedly mafia style of way, mentions of death and torture, though lets be honest dark magic is also involved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 17:18:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14856909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelar/pseuds/Aethelar
Summary: … has anyone written a dark!Theseus fic yet? Probably not. Why would they? He’sTheseus. The war hero. Untarnishable, perfect, the golden boy with the runaway younger brother, the long-suffering older brother to a hufflepuff dropout that vanished on some mad cap quest to see the world and save its creatures.Who would ever suspectTheseusof doing anything untoward?





	1. Chapter 1

… has anyone written a dark!Theseus fic yet? Probably not. Why would they? He’s _Theseus_. The war hero. Untarnishable, perfect, the golden boy with the runaway younger brother, the long-suffering older brother to a hufflepuff dropout that vanished on some mad cap quest to see the world and save its creatures.

Who would ever suspect _Theseus_ of doing anything untoward?

Not budget and accounting, is the answer, when funds shift around and galleons trickle out of the bank account. Theseus is a busy man and he can’t be in all places at once; sometimes he has to hire people to get to the places he can’t reach.

Not Tilly on the missions desk who decides who get what and who’s sent where, is also an answer, when Theseus flirts and smiles and somehow lands the mission in Tunisia instead of the mission in Norway and makes it last three weeks instead of the allotted two.

Not legal and arrests is a third answer, who take the criminals Theseus brings in and process them with the same due care they give all of the auror’s arrests. They look over the paperwork and stamp their seals and some people make it to Azkaban, some people disappear along the way, these things happen. Theseus never seems to bring in people for petty fines and simple crimes, but his paperwork is always in order and who would ever doubt that his suspects are guilty of the crimes he’s arrested them for?

And not Newt, that’s the most important answer, the biggest answer. Theseus hides people and filters people through Azkaban and Death’s Veil in the department of mysteries, but there are just as many bodies cooling in the Sahara, the Himalayan steppes, the forests of Indonesia. Newt wanders the world making enemies and causing trouble and it just… sorts itself out behind him. The poaching ring he stole from dissolves while their key players confess to just the right crimes of just the right severity to get themselves sent to Azkaban for life, and it’s only when the dementors pass that their imperius’ wear off and they realise what’s been done. The collector in Singapore, the one that put out the hit order on Newt? His bones are transfigured into coils of barbed wire, one by one until he rescinds the order and promises to leave Theseus’ brother alone.

Not that Theseus relies on the promise, beyond the use it has as a message to the man’s associates. A flash of green, an overpowered cleaning spell, a traceless portkey back to Kuala Lumpur in time to complete the mission Tilly so kindly allotted to him; the collector is gone with none the wiser. Newt travels south to Lombok and Theseus busies himself making sure he has eyes on the ground to keep his brother safe.

The connections Theseus builds up, the reputation among the right people, is… not intentional, but useful. The ministry are so closed minded, convinced that the ICW is the be all and end all of the magical world - but it’s not. Theseus has his hooks in magical communities that the ICW would rather think extinct, moles and plants and hired assassins feeding him information and dropping the people who dare turn against Newt. “The darling,” they call him, the naive boy that runs around the world with an international crime ring guarding his every move. Some of them even like him. The idea of him, at least; no one dares talk to the darling, not directly, but he represents an innocence that is strangely appealing in a world of blood and thieves. Others care only so much as Theseus’ gold buys, but while the gold keeps flowing they keep protecting him all the same.

Eventually the network is too large to sustain through carefully siphoned funds from the ministry, but that’s fine. Theseus has people around the world, smugglers, information dealers, prostitutes and gangs; it’s a simple change to sell the right services to the right people and convince others to look away. Money is no object, not any more. It’s just a case of managing what he has, moving people around and keeping people loyal, pruning back the ones that aren’t. He takes the occasional mission to a place that’s close enough and vague enough for him to drop in and remind people exactly _why_ he’s the golden boy and the war hero and one in charge, and there’s rarely any major trouble with dissenters.

What, you thought war hero meant _good_? When spellfire and bullets turned the fields to mud and Theseus bared bloody teeth and the world and refused to die, you think there was anything _righteous_ in that? War can teach you many things and one of them is to protect your own with everything you have. The other is to reduce the enemy to a number, a goal, a target drawn out down the end of the shooting range - to understand that sometimes _everything you have_ is not what you would ever want to use, but you have it, and you use it, and your people survive.

Newt will survive. Theseus’ moral compass drowned somewhere in the bloody rain but he has never forgotten this: Newt will survive.

In 1926, Grindelwald escapes from MACUSA’s cells and turns his sights on Newt, on the wizard who dared reveal him and send a beast to hold him down.

Newt strolls on in sunshine and light, and Theseus’ army guard him from the shadows, wands drawn and weapons blooded. The dark lord falls in ignoble silence and a new master seeps into the cracks and the hierarchies he left behind.

But who would ever suspect _Theseus_ of doing such a thing?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hargreaves1999 replied to your post “has anyone written a dark!Theseus fic yet? Probably not. Why would…”
> 
> Wow. That was intense! I’m such a goner for the Scamander brother relationship and Theseus doing everything to protect his little brother. So you can guess that you hit all the right buttons with this. Thanks for writing. Is Percival Graves alive in this ‘verse? And did he know Theseus?

Is Percival Graves alive in ~~this ‘verse~~ everything I will ever write or think of or dare breath word about YES

Yes, Graves is alive, and yes, he knows Theseus. Well. Sort of. He knows Theseus well enough to know that something doesn’t add up, but he also knows well enough that if he tries to out Theseus with anything less than 100% ironclad proof the British Ministry of Magic will laugh in his face, so the friendship between Theseus and Graves consists of Theseus dropping obscure hints and sending racy postcards from parts of the world he _definitely_ doesn’t have clearance to visit while Graves tries to piece things together and maybe also remind himself that Theseus is not in fact a friend, he’s an international criminal doing god only knows what that Graves is trying to uncover with an eye to arresting him.

Be that as it may, he can’t say he’s surprised when a shady figure shows up a month into his captivity and slips him a rough-hewn wand. He doesn’t know for sure that the wand is stolen or illegal, but it’s definitely stolen and illegal.

“The darling’s in town,” the figure drawls. “And your replacement is making life difficult for him.”

Just that. No instructions. No hint as to _who_ ‘the darling’ is (and though Graves knows enough about Theseus’ work to have heard of the darling, Theseus has always been cagey about the details) or what Graves is expected to do - or even how the frick the drawling shadow _found_ him.

Not that the shadow helps him out much. Just slips him a wand and a cryptic message and leaves him to it, and that is most definitely not the usual form of apparition because Grindelwald’s warded against that, so what the fuck. Likelihood that Theseus is working with vampires dramatically increased. Success of operation to eradicate vampires from New York severely called into question. 

Of course, Newt was only in New York for a day before he got in trouble with Grindelwald; it takes Graves most of the next to channel his way through the layers of wards keeping him contained, and that drains his magic enough to leave him almost comatose. Graves’ dramatic rescue attempt of the mysterious darling concludes with Queenie honing in on him like a psychic bloodhound while Tina bosses about the trio of aurors assigned to them and Newt hovers and tries to look inconspicuous. Still, it’s better than slowly dieing in the cell which would have been Graves’ other option, so he calls it a win.

Until he limps back into the office and finds an elegantly scrawled note slipped between the papers on his desk:

_Gnarlack of the Blind Pig betrayed the darling. Deal with him._

He blinks at it, mind still sluggish from healing potions. “The darling,” he repeats aloud. “Newt Scamander. Newt fucking _Scamander_. Newt - “

He firecalls Theseus.

“Newt Scamander,” he says, verging just on the edge of hysterical because suddenly so many things make so much sense but the idea that Theseus has built an entire empire around one man is _insane_.

Theseus looks at him levelly. There’s none of the usual humour and good cheer in his face, none of the easy movement and expansive gestures in the way he sits still and unblinking. “He’s my brother,” he says, calm and even and so very close to shattering apart that Graves doesn’t even push.

He has his proof. In Newt, he has Theseus’ greatest weakness. He has evidence of Theseus working in New York, in _Graves’_ city.

But he doesn’t push.

Because… He’s not quite sure why. Maybe it’s the ache of betrayal that still stings, the bitterness of being replaced and no one noticing. Maybe it’s a twisted kind of sympathy, one almost broken man to another. Maybe it’s Newt and his innocence, maybe it’s a lot of things.

The silence stretches too long. The chance for Graves to protest passes in a way that feels strangely final. Inescapable. Theseus just nods. “Would you like Gnarlack framed?” he asks, light and casual as though offering Graves a cuppa while Theseus has the kettle boiling. “It would be a simple thing to out him as a Grindelwald supporter, if that would help you arrest him.”

“No,” Graves says. “No, I - I’m not crooked.” He’s not too sure about that now, but he’ll hold on to as much truth as he can from it for as long as he’s able. “I’m not part of your network, Theseus.”

“I understand,” Theseus says, and that’s it.

In the end, Gnarlack is arrested for a completely different crime, and though the evidence checks out just fine Graves takes great pains not to look too closely just in case. Newt leaves New York and Graves tells himself he’s glad the darling is gone because maybe now he can forget it, bury the whole thing in the same battered casket that holds his conscience and what’s left of his faith in humanity.

Six months later he gets another message.

_Grindelwald has eyes on the darling._

He grips the note too tight and the paper hisses at it tears. His scars flare up, hurts and grudges too recent to have healed over, and all he can see is Grindelwald’s smiling face as it warps and morphs into his own.

The ICW has dithered and gone in circles, talking themselves into dead ends and strangling themselves in their own laws, and Graves is tired of words.

_(In an office in London a golden war-hero waits for news of his latest recruit. He toys with a stoppered vial, tilting the glass and watching the pearly liquid shimmer inside. If things go to plan he won’t need to use it, but if Graves proves resistant… Well. The promise of revenge is not the only means of controlling someone, and there are far stronger bindings to be had. Grindelwald will die and Graves will get his revenge, but Newt will still need protecting and what better bodyguard than one in love?_

_He tilts the vial back, narrowing his eyes at the play of light over the potion’s surface._

_After all, Newt is so easy to love.)_


	3. Chapter 3

Graves is still adamant he doesn’t work for Theseus because he’s not crooked. It's that simple, that straight forward, that black and white. But still.

_Grindelwald has eyes on the darling_ , the note said.

Picquery won’t give Graves leave to go after Grindelwald. They have leads, they have witnesses for his movements and his locations, they have an idea of his  _plans_  even - but Picquery says no. She doesn’t know that some of Graves’ carefully compiled files come from Theseus’ men. She doesn’t need to.

Grindelwald has turned away from America. MACUSA is more at risk of crumbling from within than it is from Grindelwald’s latest exploits in Brazil. She needs to focus on fixing the damage he caused during his stint as Director; she has neither the time nor the resources to authorise the missions Graves has planned.

“With all due respect,” Graves says as slowly and as calmly as he is able, “I think you’re making a mistake.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re compromised, Graves. It’s not surprising, but it’s not a good enough reason.”

It’s enough reason for him to leave his badge on his desk when he authorises an extended period of absence for himself. He never took the time allowed to him to heal after his capture; it’s fitting, he thinks, that he takes it for this. He signs the forms and files them neatly in the right place, sends out the appropriate memos to the appropriate people, and slips one of his emergency travel kits into the pocket of his coat.

“I assume you know where to go?” he says to the room. A shadow peels away from the window, wisps of smoke condensing down into the same pale-skinned figure that slipped him a wand when he was in Grindelwald’s less than tender care.

If Graves were still wearing his badge, he’d be worried - he’d updated the wards specifically to block out vampires when he learnt Theseus worked with them. The fact that this one can so easily slide in means that either Theseus can break through his wards - doubtful, and that’s not just Graves’ pride saying that it’s an honest assessment - or… Well, wards mean very little to a vampire with a blood connection. Graves doesn’t know how or when Theseus got his blood, but.

He’s not wearing his badge though so he sets his jaw and pushes away from his desk. “Brazil?” he asks with more confidence than he feels.

The vampire grins. His teeth are blunt and human in a way that seems so very sharp and not human, and the duality of it is almost unbalancing. “Bolivia,” he corrects. “The darling has never been one for staying still.” He holds out a hand, but Graves doesn’t take it.

“Grindelwald is in Brazil,” he insists.

The vampire shrugs, unconcerned. “The darling is not,” is all he says. His hand is still outstretched, and Graves eyes it warily.

“Where in Bolivia?” he asks. Intercontinental travel is difficult even for wizards - there’s no magical means that can handle it except for brooms or carpet, and even those are exhausting and time consuming. Floo only works over a very few defined connections, none of which he knows of that would take him south. His alternative is muggle means, probably a ship. But if he got as far as Bolivia… That is, if the vampire is proposing to take him there. Too little is known about their abilities to tell if it’s possible or not, and he’s not entirely sure he trusts the vampire.

Actually no, scratch that, the vampire’s working with Theseus. He is by  _definition_ untrustworthy.

“There are trees,” the vampire says, bored. “And a river.”

It’s about as useless an answer as he could give. Graves scowls but holds out his hand anyway. The prospect of a head start hunting Grindelwald is too tempting to ignore. “Fine,” he says. “Let’s get this over with.”

The vampire’s hand is cool in his, unnaturally so - it’s like touching a window in winter, or what Graves imagines a cloud would feel like if it were solid. “As you wish, Director,” the vampire purrs and his outline dissolves into tendrils of mist. They creep up Graves’ arm and curl almost tenderly around his neck until, with a nauseating blur, his office is gone.

It’s replaced with the promised trees. The river is not immediately in sight, but Graves’ current range of vision is approximately three metres in any direction before it’s blocked by some kind of foliage or other. The ground underneath his feet is black mud covered in leaf litter, dark and dear god the  _smell_ , so he doesn’t think the river is far.

“The darling is that way,” the vampire says, an all but invisible curl of mist that tugs and pushes Graves until he’s facing a stretch of forest that looks identical to the stretches either side. The mist lingers for a second around Graves’ shoulders. “Call if you need anything,” it finally whispers and Graves shudders as it fades away.

“Theseus you creepy fuck,” he mutters to himself. A quick tracker-anchor marks the spot he arrived and the direction that the darling - Newt Scamander, and Graves still can’t quite get over that - is supposedly in; a point-me charm gives him a vague direction of the Brazilian border.

By ‘vague’ Graves means anywhere from due North of him to approximately South East of him. Newt is, of course, squarely West of him.

The mud gurgles around his shoes and the humid heat weighs down on him, heavy and choking. “Pain in the ass creepy fuck,” Graves amends as he strips off his outer layers. He can’t apparate without knowing where he’s apparating to and the concept of  _walking_ through the Amazon Rainforest to reach Brazil is just ridiculous. He glares in Newt’s general direction and hates how well Theseus manoeuvres him into doing what he’s told.

“Fine,” he growls with ill grace. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about then,  _darling_.”


End file.
